No More Learning

I have spoken of a religious need; but the problem is just as much sociopolitical, since the daily life ofpeople in antiquity was punctuated by religious ceremonies. Moreover, prayers and sacri ces would have no meaning if there were no current and individual providence (VI , 44, 4) :
If the gods do not deliberate about anything-to believe this would be impious; or else let us make no . more sacri ces, prayers, oaths, nor let us carry out any ofthe other rites which we practice, as ifthe gods were present and lived with us . . .
This religious need thus corresponds to the desire to have a relation­ ship with some personal being who can, as it were, enter into a dialogue with humankind. Another response to this same aspiration is the concep­ tion ofthe daimon, which is, moreover, traditionally nothing more than a particular element of the more general theory of providence. 49 In this regard, the llowing words ofEpictetus are signi cant (I, 14, 12):
God has placed next to each person, as a guardian, his own daimon, and he has entrusted each person to its protection. . . . When you close your doors . . . remember never to say to yourselves that you are alone . . . r God is within you.
In ct, however, such conceptions ofgods mixing with human beings and of the inner daimon do not ndamentally alter Stoicism's rational demands. What I mean by this is that the gures ofthe gods deliberating over the te ofan individual, or the gure ofthe daimon, are nothing but mythical, imaginative expressions, intended to render the Stoic concep-
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tions of Reason and Destiny more alive and personal. We can observe this process at work, r example, in the llowing passage om Marcus Aurelius , 27):
He lives with the gods who constantly shows them a soul which greets that which has been allotted to it with joy; it does everything that is willed by the daim n which Zeus has given each person as an overseer and a guide, and which is a small parcel of Zeus. It is nothing other than each person's intellect and reason.
Here, then, the daim n is straight rwar y identi ed with humankind's inner reason or the proper nature of humankind, which is a part of universal Nature and Reason.
Once we disengage the hypothesis of special and individual provi­ dence om its mythical rmulation, it can perfectly well be integrated within the overa scheme of the Stoic theory of providence. The Stoics not only thought that universal Reason had, by means of its initial im­ pulse, set in motion a law of the development of the universe which has as its goal the good of the Whole; but they also admitted that this ndamental law of the universe has as its primary goal the good of rational beings (V, 1 6, 5) :
Inferior beings are made r the purposes of superior ones, and superior beings are made r one another.
Providence, then, is exercised directly, especially upon reasonable beings, and by way of consequence it is also exercised upon other beings (VII, 75):
The Nature ofthe gave the impulse in the past [= hypothesis 4], so that the creation of the world might come about. Now, how­ ever, either everything that happens happens as a consequence at' epakolouthesin) ofthat [= hypothesis 3], or else there is a tiny number of things (ol ista)-and these include the most important ones­ which are the obj ect of a particular act of will [= hypothesis 5] on the part of the world's guiding principle.
This "tiny number ofmost important things" re rs to rational beings. There is thus a general providence r the entire universe, which corre-
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sponds to the "initial impulse" which Marcus mentions here. There is also a special providence r rational beings: it is a particular act ofwill, which "exercises its impulse upon each individual," as Marcus had said elsewhere (IX, 28, 2). These two notions are not, however, mutually exclusive, r the general law, which is immanent within the universe and results om the initial impulse, wants rational life to be the end that justi es the universe. Origen50 attributes this doctrine explicitly to the Stoics:
Providence made all things primarily r the good ofrational beings. Rational beings, since they are the most important, play the part of children who have been brought into the world. Non-rational and inanimate beings play the part of the placenta which is produced at the same time as the child. . . . Providence looks primarily to the needs of rational beings, but non-rational beings also pro t, by way ofaccessory consequence, om what is made r human beings.
This text should not, however, be opposed to that in which Cicero states thatJupiter does not care about the damage caused by hail in some landowner's garden; r what counts om the Stoics' point ofview is not such morally indi erent things as harvests. For them, the only important thing is humankind's moral elevation and its quest r wisdom. Divine providence, creative and nurturing toward inferior creatures, becomes the educator ofhuman beings. Henri Bergson used to call the world "a machine r making gods";51 but the Stoics would gladly have called it a machine r making sages.
Indeed, sages seem to be the privileged objects ofthis individual provi­ dence. Note, r example, the llowing passage om Epictetus (III, 26, 28) :
Could God become so disinterested in his masterpieces, his servants, and his witnesses: those he places as examples be re people without any moral training?
There is also this text om Cicero:52
The immortal gods do not only cherish the human race, but also particular men . . . who could not have been what they were with­ out divine assistance.
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For Marcus Aurelius, the main interest of this theory of providence's various modes of action is that it speci es the way in which we should practice the discipline ofdesire. We can look at events om two di erent and yet convergent viewpoints, according to whether we place ourselves in the perspective of the initial impulse, or in that of individual provi­ dence.
On the one hand, om the perspective ofuniversal Nature and gen­ eral providence, things which can seem repulsive, unpleasant, ugly, or terri ing, such as the thorns ofa rose, thejaws of rocious beasts, mud, or earthquakes, will seem to be physical phenomena which are com­ pletely natural: they are not directly programmed by the initial impulse, but are the accessory and necessary consequences thereof Ifthese inevi­ table consequences of the order of the world personally a ect the un r­ tunate vineyard-owner ofwhom Cicero speaks, and he considers this to be a mis rtune r him, then it does not llow that "Jupiter" has willed him to consider this phenomenon as a mis rtune. The vineyard-owner is ee to represent events to himselfas he pleases; in ct, however, such events are only the accessory consequence ofphysical laws which result om the initial impulse. IfCicero's vineyard-owner is a Stoic, he will say "Yes! " to this universal order. He will say "Yes! " to the world, and will love everything that happens. He will consider that the loss of his prop­ erty is morally neither good nor bad, but pertains to the order ofindi er­ ent things. Indi erent things do not concern Jupiter, and have no mean­ ing within a universal perspective. They correspond only to a subjective and partial point ofview.
Nevertheless, om the perspective of particular providence, the events that happen to me are individually destined r me. Clotho-that is, the course of the universe, which has issued om the original im­ pulse-has woven them together with me since the origin of the world (IV, 34; V, 8, 12; IV, 26; X, 5). Everything that happens to me is destined r me, in order to give me the opportunity to consent to what God wants r me, in precisely this moment, and in precisely this rm. I am to accept "my" own particular destiny, which the entire universe has reserved r me alone (V, 8) :
A phrase like "Asclepius ordered him to practice horseback-riding, or cold baths, or walking bare ot" is analogous to this one: "The Nature of the ordered r him an illness, a de rmity, a loss or something else ofthe sort. " For in the rst phrase, "ordered" means
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"he prescribed that r him, since it corresponded to the state ofhis health. " In the second phrase, the event which comes to each person has been assigned to him because it corresponded to his destiny. . . . Let us there re accept these events, just as we accept the "orders" ofAsclepius.
On the one hand, says Marcus, this event has happened especially r you; it was "ordered" r you, was related to you, and was woven together with you by the most ancient ofcauses. On the other hand, that which was "ordered" r you in this way was the condition r the e cient working and the very existence ofthe universe. 53
These two outlooks are not mutually exclusive, since each event is at the same time the result ofthe general law ofthe universe, taken by itself, and ofthis same general law ofthe universe, when applied to the good of rational creatures.
Depending on which perspective one adopts, however, the practice of the discipline ofdesire can take on di erent tonalities. One may be more impersonal, tending as it does to eliminate all subjectivity in the admiring contemplation ofthe ineluctable laws ofa majestic but indi erent Nature (IX, l). The other may be more personal, since it gives the individual the feeling of contributing to the general good of the , as he l lls the task, role, and destiny r which Nature has chosen him (VI, 42):
We are all contributing to the accomplishment of a single result. Some ofus know this and cooperate consciously, whereas others do so unconsciously. I think it was Heraclitus who said that those who sleep are the workers and collaborators of what happens in the world. . . . He who governs the universe will, in any case, know perfectly well how to use you; he will know how to make you a collaborator.
Pessimism?
"His joyless, disillusioned Meditations are penetrated by a pro und pes­ simism . . . they are an authentic testimony to the solitude of an intellec­ tual. " These extracts om the catalogue54 of an exposition dedicated to Marcus Aurelius in 1988 provide a good summary of the idea most historians since Renan have had of our philosopher-emperor. It is true
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that there is no lack ofseemingly pessimistic declarations throughout the pages ofhis book (VIII, 24):
Just as your bath appears to you-oil, sweat, lth, sticky water, and all kinds of disgusting things-such is each part of life, and every object.
Or again (IX, 36):
The decomposition of matter which underlies each one of us: water, dust, bones, stench.
Sometimes, this disgust seems to be accompanied by a eling of bore­ dom which reaches the point ofnausea (VI, 46):
What you see in the amphitheater and similar places makes you sick: it's always the same thing, and such uni rmity makes the spectacle tedious; you feel the same way about the totality ofli . From top to bottom, it is always the same thing, made up of the same things. Where will it all end?
Nevertheless, we must not rush into thinking that Marcus is here giving us his personal impressions, or the expression of some incurable sadness. We know, in ct, that he is embroidering upon a canvas already prepared r him. His meditations are exercises which he practices in accordance with a quite determinate method, while llowing pre-exist­ ing models. Our task, there re, is to t to understand the true meaning and range of such traditional rmulas.
In the rst place, in many ofthese declarations we can recognize the method of physical de nition which we have encountered earlier. We recall that this method is intended to make us rely upon our objective representations, thereby avoiding the false and conventional value-judg­ ments which people tend to emit about objects. This method, says Mar­ cus (III, II, 2), must be applied to all objects which present themselves to us in life, so that we may "see everything that happens in life with exactness and om the perspective ofNature" (X, 3 I , 5). Such a method ofphysical de nition will strip things naked (VI, I3, 2; III, I I, I); it will "make it clear how little value they have, and will strip om them that appearance ofwhich they are so proud" (VI, I3, 3). When speaking of
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the method which de nes things by reducing them to their parts (XI, 2, 2) , Marcus gives the llowing advice:
Except r virtue and that which relates to virtue, remember to get right down to the parts which you've divided, and get to the point where, by means ofthis division, you despise them. Then, transpose this method to the whole oflife.
Marcus' goal is thus to denounce false values, and to see things in their naked, "physical" reality. Fancy ods are only cadavers; pu le vest­ ments are only sheep's hair; sexual union is only two bellies rubbing together (VI, 13, l). The war Marcus is waging, he says, is a hunt analogous to that of the spider and the y (X, IO, l), while social and political life are not worth much (V, 3 3 , 2) :
Everything by which people set so much store in life is emptiness, putre ction, pettiness; little dogs nipping at one another; little chil­ dren who laugh as they ght, and then suddenly burst into tears.
The same method is to be applied to people who think themselves important (IX, 9):
Imagine them as they are when they are eating, when they are sleeping, when they are making love, or going to the bathroom. Then imagine them when they are putting on airs; when they make those haughty gestures, or when they get angry and upbraid people with such a superior air.
We must always look to the "physical" reality; this also holds true r me, and the name which one leaves to posterity (V, 3 3 ) :
It is nothing but a simple sound, as weak as an echo.
Likewise, by the method of dividing a whole into its parts, we may strip life of its lse appearances and reduce it to one of its moments:
Just as your bath appears to you-oil, sweat, lth, sticky water, and kinds of disgusting things-such is each part of life, and every object (VIII, 24).
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Always consider human a airs as ephemeral and without any value: yesterday, you were a bit ofphlegm; tomorrow, you will be ashes or a mummy (IV, 48, 3).
In the midst ofa series of"physical" de nitions, Marcus' de nition of death reveals once more the lack of value of our physical existence (IX, 36):
The decomposition of the matter which rms the undation of the being of each one of us: water, dust, bones, stench. Or consider marble: it is only a concretion of the earth. Gold and silver? They are the dregs ofthe earth. Clothing? Mere animal hair. The purple?
Just some blood; and so rth . . .
Here we can catch Marcus as he trains himselfto give physical de ni­ tions of the most diverse objects, and we can legitimately suppose that the de nition of the decomposition of matter is no more charged with emotional and personal power than are those of marble or of gold. Instead, we are dealing with a (slightly arti cial) method r nding striking rmulas. The goal of the whole exercise, however, is to de­ nounce lse values, and this is the task of the discipline of desires.
Some historians55 have thought they could discern in these passages a genuine attitude ofrepulsion on Marcus' part toward matter and physical objects. According to them, Marcus thereby abandoned the Stoic doc­ trine of Reason's immanence in matter, and the admiration which Chrysippus had lt r the sensible world can no longer be und in Marcus. This seems to me quite incorrect.
In the rst place, when Marcus speaks about the "decomposition of matter, " he does not mean that matter itself is putre ction, but that the trans rmation of matter-which corresponds to death-is a natural process necessarily accompanied by phenomena of decomposition which, though they may appear to us to be repulsive, should nevertheless be exactly and physically de ned.
Marcus does not by any means abandon the Stoic doctrine of the immanence of Reason in matter. He speaks of the Reason which gov­ erns substance (ousia)-that is to say passive matter-as well as of that Reason which spreads throughout all substance (VI, 1), and molds all beings with the help of substance (VII, 23). He also speaks of the con­ structive rce within natural creatures (VI, 40), which is to be revered. To be sure, Marcus also speaks ofthe "weakness ofmatter" (XII, 7), but
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this "weakness" is nothing other than its " uid" nature-that is, its constant susceptibility to passive change and inability to act by itsel which characterize Stoic matter.
It is also true that Marcus sometimes speaks of the body in terms of a corpse (IX, 24; X, 3 3 , 6) ; but he himself tells us that he has learned this om Epictetus (IV, 27) :
"You are nothing but a little soul carrying a cadaver," as Epictetus said.
A glance at the Dis urses as collected by Arrian does indeed reveal that Epictetus used this expression several times (II, 19, 27; III, ro, 15; 22, 41); especially when he wonders ifhis co se is his "self" (IV, 7, 31). Else­ where, Epictetus sometimes adds, as does Marcus, that the body is made only of earth (III, 22, 41). These expressions, then, which could be classi ed as pejorative, are not Marcus' original invention.
Finally, when Marcus compares life to bath-water, together with the oily dirt which it contains, he is doing nothing other than practicing the method of physical de nition of which I have spoken. If we want to see things r what they are, we must also learn to see as they are the realities which are indissolubly linked to everyday li , such as the physical and physiological aspects of our bodily nctions. We must also become accustomed to the constant trans rmation of things within and around us, including dust, lth, bad odors, and stenches. Such a realistic view will enable us to ce life as it really is. One is reminded of the words of Seneca:
It is no less ridiculous to be shocked by these things than it is to complain because you get splashed in the baths, or get shoved around in a public place, or that you get dirty in muddy places. What happens in life is exactly like what happens in the baths, in a crowd, or on a muddy road . . . Li is not made r delicate souls. 56
Such a pitiless vision will strip li 's objects of all the false values in which our judgments wrap them up. The true reason r this alleged pessimism is, then, that Marcus considers everything vile and petty in comparison to that unique Value constituted by the purity of our moral intention and the splendor of virtue. From this perspective, li is a "stain" (VII, 47). At the same time, however, such a way oflooking at li invites us to re ect on the relative and subjective character of our
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ideas of "stain" and of "repulsive things. " What is really repulsive is not certain aspects ofmatter, but the passions and the vices.
In ct, the reason we consider certain aspects ofphysical reality "re­ pulsive" is that we are the victims ofa prejudice, and we there re do not know how to resituate such aspects within the vast perspective ofuniver­ sal Nature. All these aspects are, in ct, the necessary but accessory consequences of the original impulse which Nature once gave to the origin ofthings (VI, 36, 3):
The gaping jaws of a lion, poison, and everything unpleasant­ mud, thorns, and so rth-are accessory consequences of these sacred and venerable things on high. Don't imagine, then, that these things are reign to the principle which you venerate, but rather rise up by your rational power to the source ofall things.
Mud, dust, and dirty bath-water-all phenomena which we judge to be repugnant-are in ct intimately linked to the processes, course, and development ofthe world, which in turn can be traced back to universal Reason. Marcus goes rther still (III, 2):
We must also bear in mind things like the llowing: even the accessory consequences of natural phenomena have something grace l and attractive about them. For instance: when bread is baked, some parts of it develop cracks in their sur ce. Now, it is precisely these small openings which, although they seem somehow to have escaped the intentions which presided over the making of the bread, somehow please us and stimulate our appetite in a quite particular way. Or take gs as an example: when they are perfectly ripe, they split open. In the case of ripe olives, it is precisely the proximity of rot which adds a unique beauty to the uit. Ears of corn which bend toward the earth; the lion's wrinkled brow; the am trailing om the mouth of boars: these things, and many others like them, would be r om beauti l to look at, if we considered them only in themselves. And yet, because these secon­ dary aspects accompany natural processes, they add a new adorn­ ment to the beauty of these processes, and they make our hearts glad. Thus, if one possesses experience and a thorough knowledge of the workings of the universe, there will be scarcely a single one ofthose phenomena which accompany natural processes as a conse­ quence which will not appear to him, under some aspect at least, as
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pleasant. Such a person derive no less pleasure om contem­ plating the actual gaping jaws of wild beasts than he does om the imitations which painters and sculptors provide thereo His pure eyes will be able to see a kind of ourishing maturity in aged men and women, as well as a kind of amiable charm in children. Many such cases will occur, and it is notjust anyone who can derive pleasure om them. Rather, only that person who has become truly miliar with Nature and her works do so.
It is worthwhile to compare these lines with Aristotle's pre ce to his Parts Animals (644b3r ):
In ct, some of the creatures in this world do not have a pleasant appearance. Nature, however, who has created them, provides whoever contemplates her with marvelous enjoyments, as long as one is able to recognize the principles ofnatural phenomena, and is of a philosophical nature. It would, moreover, be illogical and ab­ surd if we took pleasure in contemplating reproductions of such creatures-since, as we contemplate them, we simultaneously ad­ mire the talent of the artist, be he painter or sculptor-and yet did not feel still more joy while contemplating the very beings which Nature has created-at least when we are able to discern their principles. This is why we must not yield to any kind of childish repugnance when we are examining some ofthe less noble animals, r there is something wonderful in all that is natural.
It is the creatures themselves, as produced by Nature, which interest Aristotle. According to the Stagirite, even ifthese creatures have a terri­ ing or repulsive appearance, the philosopher, inso r as he recognizes the creative power ofNature within them, can discover their beauty. For Marcus, by contrast, as we have seen, such creatures are to be explained as the consequences, both necessary and accessory, of the natural phe­ nomena which result om the initial decision, yet seem to humankind to be contrary to Nature's intentions-snake venom, r instance, or the thorns on roses. In the nal analysis, however, Marcus also recognizes in these consequences the creative power of Nature. Even though such consequences do not within the classical canon ofbeauty, they never­ theless, inso r precisely as they are the consequences ofnatural phenom­ ena, "have something charming and attractive about them. "
Our baker would like to have given his bread a perfectly regular rm.
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When it is baked, however, the bread takes on un rseeable rms, and cracks in unexpected ways. Likewise, the general movement ofthe uni­ verse should be completely rational, and yet, when this movement oc­ curs, there also occur concomitant, accessory phenomena which go above and beyond Nature's intentions, and the impulse which she gave at the beginning. Just as in the case of the bread, however, it is precisely such anomalies and irregularities-these cracks in the crust, if you will­ which make us sense that the bread is crusty, and stimulate our appetite.
For Aristotle, only the philosopher could perceive the beauty of the products of Nature, r it was he who could discover Nature's plan: a rce which ensured the growth of beings om within. Marcus, too, holds that only the philosopher or the sage-someone who possesses experience and a deep understanding of the processes of the universe­ can el the beauty and grace of the phenomena which accompany natural processes. This is because only he can perceive the link between these natural processes and their necessary accompaniments.
In the place ofan idealistic aesthetics, which considered beauti l only that which mani sted the ideal rm and the canons of proportion, Aristotle, Marcus, and the entire Hellenistic period substituted a realistic aesthetics. For them, living reality, in its nudity and even in its horror, is more beauti l than beauti l imitations. "An ugly man," as Plotinus57 was to say, "ifhe is alive, is more beauti l than a man represented in a statue, however beauti l he may be. "
Here the perspective has been utterly trans rmed. Things which used to appear repulsive, disgusting, or terri ing now become beauti l to the eyes of the person miliar with Nature, precisely because they exist, are natural, and are part of the natural processes which ow indirectly om Nature's intentions.
Like Nature (IX, r, 9), we must not make any distinctions between indi erent things, which depend not upon us, but on universal Nature. Dirt, mud, thorns, and poison come om the same source and are just as natural as roses, the sea, or spring. In the eyes of Nature, and of people miliar with Nature, there is no di erence to be made between bath­ water and the rest oflife: everything is equally "natural. " We are irly close to Nietzsche here: "Everything which is necessary, when seen om above and om the point ofview ofthe vast economy ofthe whole, is in itself equally use l. We must not only put up with it, but love it. "58
Familiarity with Nature is one of the ndamental attitudes of one who practices the discipline of desire. Being miliar with Nature means recognizing things and events as miliar, and realizing that they belong
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to the same world, and come om the same source, as we do. It thus means " doing physics " in the sense of becoming aware of the unity of Nature and its accord with itself He who is miliar with Nature associ­ ates himselfwith Nature's self-accordance; in Marcus' words, he is "no longer a stranger in his homeland, " and is " a man worthy of the wo d which has engendered him" (XII, l, 5).
It is only when one considers the things in li om a cosmic perspec­ tive that they can appear both beauti l and valueless: beauti l, because they exist, and yet valueless because they cannot accede to the realm of eedom and morality. Instead, they vanish rapidly into the in nity of space and time, and the uninterrupted ux ofbecoming (VI, 15, 2):
In the midst ofthis river, in which one cannot stand still, who could attach any value to any of the things which ow past?
Marcus never tires of contemplating the great laws of Nature. He is particularly scinated by the perpetual metamorphoses ofall things, and this is what he is constantly trying to contemplate:
Acquire a method r contemplating how all things are trans rmed into each other: concentrate your attention on this ceaselessly and exercise yourselfon this point (X, l l).
When you regard each substance, imagine that it is already being dissolved, is in the midst oftrans rmation, in the process ofrotting and being destroyed (X, 1 8) .
Thus, Marcus tries to perceive the process of dissolution already at work in the people and objects which surround him. He would certainly have approved of Princess Bibesco, who, in order to meditate upon death, had only to contemplate a bouquet ofviolets.
59 Marcus recalls the imperial courts of the past-that of Augustus, r example-in order to realize that all these people who have, r an instant, come back to life in his memory are in ct long dead. This is no more a case of obsession with death or morbid complacency than when, in the lm The Dead Poets' Society, Robin Williams, who plays a teacher ofliterature, makes his students care lly study a picture of the school's old boys. In order that his students appreciate the value of life, the teacher wants them to become aware that all the boys in the picture-apparently so alive-are now dead. He hopes they will thereby discover life's preciousness, as he
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instills in them Horace's saying Carpe diem ("Seize the day! "). The only di erence in these two outlooks is that r Marcus the only value is not
just life itsel but moral li .
Marcus' vision of universal metamorphosis teaches us not to ar
death, which is only a particular instance ofsuch metamorphosis (II, 12, 3), and not to attribute any value to transitory things (IX, 28, 5). At the same time, however, it sweeps the soul along toward the contemplation of the grandiose spectacle of Nature, which constantly trans rms all things "so that the world may always be new" (VII, 25).
In the immensity of the universe, and the in nity of time and space, Marcus annihilates himself in a kind of intoxicated vertigo, as many others had done be re him.
Such a vision of the totality of substance and of time can be obtained by a view om above:60 that is, the soul's ight above all things, in the immensity of the universe (IX, 3 2) :
You will open up a vast eld r yourselfas you embrace the totality of the cosmos in your thought, conceive everlasting eternity, and consider the rapid metamorphosis ofeach individual thing.
Marcus allows himself to be swept along by the revolutions of the stars, and the torrential metamorphosis ofthe elements (VII, 47):
For such images puri us om the stains ofterrestrial li .
Marcus plunges in thought into a universe which con rms to the Stoic model: a universe, that is, which is nite within the immensity of the surrounding void, and which ceaselessly repeats itself within the in nity oftime (XI, l, 3):
The soul traverses the entire world and the void which surrounds it, as well as its rm; it extends itself throughout the in nity of eter­ nity, and it embraces and conceives the periodic rebirth of the univers e .
Human beings are made r in ni , and their true city and therland is the immensi of the whole world. In the words of Seneca:61
How natural it is r man to extend his spirit throughout all immen­ sity . . . The only limits which the human soul allows are those
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which it shares with God himself . . Its therland is everything which the sky and the world contain.
One ofthe things, says Marcus, which is peculiar to mankind, and which lls him with joy, is to contemplate the Nature of the , as well as everything which happens in con rmity with what Nature has willed (VIII, 26).
The rst result of this spiritual exercise of the view om above or cosmic ight of the soul is to reveal to people both the splendor of the universe and the splendor ofthe spirit. Another ofits e ects, however, is that it ishes power l instigations r practicing the discipline of desire. Human a airs, when seen om above, seem very tiny and puny; they are not worthy ofbeing desired, nor does death appear as something to be feared.
From such a perspective, Asia and Europe are nothing but a tiny comer ofthe world; the sea is a drop ofwater; Mt. Athos is a mound of earth; and the present moment nothing more than a point (VI, 36). Mankind's place and role are minuscule amidst such immensity (XII, 32). And what o f the minuscule swarms of human beings crawling all over the earth?
Crowds, armies, rmers; weddings, divorces, births, deaths; the hubbub of the courts; deserted places; the diversity of the customs ofbarbarous peoples; celebrations, lamentations; marketplaces: what a hodgepodge! And yet, there is the harmony of contraries (VII, 48) .
This e ort to look at things om above thus allows us to contemplate the entire panorama ofhuman reality in its aspects-social, geographi­ cal, and emotional-and to resituate them within the immensity of the cosmos and the human species, swarming anonymously over the earth. When we look at things om the perspective of universal Nature, those things which do not depend on us, and which the Stoics called "indi er­ ent"-health, glory, wealth, and death, r example-are brought back to their true proportions.
When this theme ofthe view om above assumes this speci c rm of observing people on earth, it seems particularly to belong to the Cynic tradition. We nd it used abundantly by the satirist Lucian, a contempo­ rary of Marcus Aurelius, who was strongly in uenced by Cynicism. In Lucian's dialogue Icaromenippus, or "The Man Who Rose Above the
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Clouds,"62 the Cynic Menippus tells a iend how, discouraged by the disagreement among philosophers about the ultimate principles of the universe, he decided to go up to the heavens himsel in order to see how things really were. In order to y, Menippus xed himselfup with wings: the right wing was that ofan eagle, and the le that ofa vulture. He then took o in the direction of the moon. Once there, he could see the entire earth om above, and just like Homer's Zeus, he says, he could observe now the land of the Thracians, now that of the Mysians-even, if he wished, the lands of Greece, Persia, and India. Such variety lls him with pleasure, but he also observes the people:
The whole of human li appeared to me; not only the nations and the cities, but every individual: some were sailing ships, others waging war, and others on trial.
Menippus observes not only what is going on out in the open, but also what is happening behind closed doors, where everyone thought they were per ctly well hidden. 63 After a lengthy enumeration of the crimes and adulteries which he sees being committed inside the houses, Menip­ pus resumes his remarks, calling everything a hodge-podge, a cacophony, and a ridiculous spectacle. In his view, the most ridiculous thing ofall is to see people quarreling over the borders of a nation, since the earth appears minuscule to him. The rich, says Menippus, have darned little to be proud about. Their lands are no bigger than one of Epicurus' atoms, and when people gather together they resemble a swarm ofants. Menip­ pus nally leaves the moon and travels among the stars until he reaches Zeus, where he is amused at the ridiculously contradicto nature of the prayers which human beings send up to this god.
In another of Lucian's dialogues, entitled Charon or The Overseers, we nd Charon, ferryman of the dead, asking r a day o in order to go up to the surface of the earth and see what life is like-this life which the dead miss so much when they arrive in He . With the help of Hermes, Charon piles several mountains on top of each other and climbs up on them in order to observe human li . We then have the same kind of description which we have already encountered in the Icaromenippus or in Marcus Aurelius: an enumeration of sailing ships, armies at war, trials, rmers working their elds-a wide variety ofactivities, but everywhere li is ll of torments. As Charon remarks, " If people realized om the beginning that they are mortal, and that, after a briefsojourn in li , they must leave it as they would a dream, and leave everything upon this
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earth, then they would live more wisely and die with wer regrets. " But, continues Charon, people are unaware oftheir condition, like the bubbles produced by a ra ng stream, which vanish as soon as they are rmed.
This look om above at man's earthly life takes on a rm peculiar to Cynicism. One sign of this is the ct that the dialogue Charon bears the Greek title Episkopountes, or "Those who watch. " The Cynic philoso­ pher, r his part, believes that his role is to watch over people's actions. He is a kind of spy, lying in wait r mankind's defects in order to denounce them, as Lucian himself says. 64 It is the Cynic's job to watch over other men; he is their censor, and he observes their behavior as if om the heights ofan observatory. The Greek words episkopos ("over­ seer") and kataskopos ("spy"), moreover, traditionally designate the Cyn­ ics in the ancient world. 65 For them, the view om above was meant to denounce the senseless way in which people led their lives. It is no accident that, in this dialogue, it is precisely Charon, rryman of the dead, who thus looks at human a airs om above; r looking at things om above means looking at human a airs om the point of view of death. Only this point ofview can give us the detachment, elevation, and distance which are indispensable in order r us to see things as they really are.
The Cynics denounced that rm of human madness which attaches itselfso passionately to things, such as luxury and power, which people wi inevitably have to abandon. This is why they urge them to reject super uous desires, social conventions, and arti cial civilization-all of which are the source oftheir worries, cares, and su erings-and encour­ age them to return to a simple, purely natural style oflife.
Thus, our philosopher-emperor coincides with Lucian, the ancient equivalent of Voltaire, in this imaginative exercise of the view om above, which is also a view ofthings om the point ofview ofdeath. It is, moreover, a merciless view, which strips false values naked.
Among these false values is me. Marcus came up with remarkable rmulas to denounce our desire to be known, either by our contempo­ raries or by posterity:
Short is the time which each of us lives; puny the little comer of earth on which we live; how puny, nally, is even the lengthiest posthumous glory. Even this glory, moreover, is transmitted by little men who'll soon be dead, without even having known themselves, much less him who has long since been dead (III, ro, 2).
Are you obsessed with a little bit of glory? Turn your eyes to the rapidity with which everything is rgotten. Think about the abyss of eternity, in nite in both directions; and about the vanity of the echo which reaches us. Think about how quickly those who now seem to be applauding change their minds, and have no judgment; think also about the narrowness ofthe space by which your me is circumscribed. The whole earth is no more than a point, and ofthis point only the tiniest part is inhabited. From such an origin, how many people will there be to sing your praises, and ofwhat charac­ ter? (IV, 3, 7-8).
Soon, you will have rgotten everything; soon, everyone will have rgotten you . . . (VII, 21).
In a short time, you will no longer be anything or anywhere . . (VI, 37).
While the view om above reveals that human a airs are only an in nitesimal point within the immensity of reality, it also allows us to discover what Marcus calls to homoeides, which we could render as both the identity and the homogeneity of all things. This is an ambiguous notion: it can mean, r example, that in the eyes of one who plunges his gaze into the cosmic immensity, everything is within everything else. Everything holds itselftogether, and the entire universe is present in each instant oftime, as well as in each part ofreality (VI, 37):
He who has seen the present has seen everything: all that has oc­ curred om all eternity, and all that will occur throughout in nity, r everything is homogeneous and identical in rm.
Death, then, will not deprive me ofanything, since I have already, within each instant, had everything. At any moment at which the limits ofits life cease, the soul attains its end. Within each present moment, I possess everything I can expect om life: the presence ofthe entire universe and presence of universal Reason, which is the presence of one and the same thing. At each moment, I possess all of Being, present in the least of things .
I however, we are a aid to die, because we would like to continue enjoying li , honors, pleasures, and all other false human values, then to homoeides, or homogeneity, takes on a di erent meaning. For one who
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has discovered true value-that of Reason, which rules within us and within the entire universe-these elements oflife, which endlessly repeat their pettiness and banality, arejust as disgusting as the games in the arena (VI, 46).
When human a airs are viewed om above, we are able to ima ne the past as well as the ture, and this view reveals that even ifindividuals disappear, the same scenes are repeated throughout the centuries. The soul which extends itselfthroughout the immensity ofspace and time
sees that those who will come a er us will see nothing new, and that those who came be re us saw nothing more than we did. Rather, there is a sense in which a man offorty, ifhe has some slight measure of intelligence, has seen everything there has been, and everything that will be, because of the uni rmity of things (XI, I, 3).
Marcus returns to this idea equently and insistently (XII, 24, 3):
Each time you are elevated in this way, looking at human a airs om above, you would see the same things: uni rmity and brevity. And to think that this is what men brag about!
Marcus ima nes the imperial courts ofhis predecessors: Hadrian and Antoninus Pius, r example; or those of rmer times: Philip, Alexan­ der, or Croesus:
these uni rm scenes and dramas, whether you have come to know them through personal experience or through ancient his­ tory . . . these spectacles were the same, and only the actors were di erent (X, 27, r-2).
For the ancients, history always repeats itself. This, moreover, is the reason why historians of that time wrote history. As Thucydides declared in his Histo es (I, 22, 4) : " For all those who wish to have a clear idea both of past events and of those in the ture which, because of their human character, will bear similarities or analogies to them, this exposition will be use l, and shall su ce. " From this point ofview, it must be admitted that Thucydides' work was an extraordinary success, r his description of the hypocrisy of the victorious and the strong remains appallingly relevant.
Marcus, r his part, would no doubt have approved of Schopen­ hauer's views on history:
From beginning to end, it is the repetition ofthe same drama, with di erent costumes and names . . . This identical element, which persists throughout all changes, consists in the basic qualities of the human heart and head-many ofthem are bad; a w ofthem good. Histo 's overall motto ought to be Eadem, sed aliter. One who has read Herodotus has, om a philosophical point of view, already studied enough history, r his work already contains everything which constitutes the subsequent history ofthe world. 66
When Marcus mentions this uni rmity, by contrast, he has not the slightest intention of elaborating a philosophy of history. On the con­ trary, we ought rather to say that the view om above which he takes of human a airs leads him to evaluate them: in other words, to denounce their pseudo-value, especially when considered om the point ofview of death.
These spectacles which repeat themselves identically throughout one's life and throughout the ages are almost always scenes of human evil, hypocrisy, and tility. It makes no di erence whether one sees them r rty years, or r ten thousand (VII, 49, 2). Death will deliver us om this spectacle, as tiring as the games ofthe amphitheater (VI, 46); or at least it will not make us miss anything, since it is impossible r anything new to happen.
The Epicurean Lucretius had already placed a similar argument in the mouth of Nature, as she tried to console mankind with regard to the inevitability of his death: " I cannot think up some new invention to please you, r things are eternally the same . . . you must always expect the same things, even ifyou were never to die. "67
Once again, we can see that the declarations contained in the Medita­ tions, which modern historians have classi ed as pessimistic, do not cor­ respond to Marcus Aurelius' impressions or experiences. The only per­ sonal experience which seems to be expressed in his work is that of disappointment with regard to his entourage, but I shall return to this point later. When Marcus says that human a airs are as nothing within the immensity; that they are vile and petty; or that they repeat themselves until one is sick ofthem, he is not expressing some negative experience ofhis own. Instead, he is engaging in exercises, both spiritual and literary. Sometimes, we feel that some of his wonderfully striking rmulas are
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even a bit arti cial, since all they do is reproduce traditional themes of ancient philosophy. In the nal analysis, however, what inspires all this is the love and scination which Marcus els in the depths ofhis being r that unique Value, which is the only thing necessary. Does human life, he asks, contain "anything more valuable than Justice, Truth, Temper­ ance, and Bravery" (III, 6, r)? The good worth more than anything else is the eling of inner joy which occurs when the guiding principle or thought "is content with itself (in those things in which it is possible to act in accordance with right reason), and is content with Destiny (in those things which are allotted to us, independently of our will) . . . Choose this greatest ofall goods, and never let it go" (III, 6, 6).
This superior good is, in the last analysis, the inner God, which must be "pre rred to everything" (III, 7, 2), and revered, since it is of the same substance as the guiding principle which governs the world 0/, 2 I ) .
Your only joy, and your only rest: let it be to pass om one action performed in the service of the community to another action per­ rmed r the service ofthe community, together with the remem­ brance ofGod 0/I, 7).
It is this unique Value that brings joy, serenity, and rest to Marcus' soul. Compared to this unique, transcendent Value, human a airs are petty indeed; they are like a point within the immensity of the universe. In
ct, the only thing which is great compared to the latter is the purity of moral intent. As Pascal would agree, moral good is in nitely greater than physical size.
To anyone who has contemplated the immensity of the universe, human a airs-to which we attach so much importance-seem petty, unimportant child's play. As Marcus likes to repeat: "Everything is vile and petty. " Yet since human a airs are almost always alien to the moral good, dominated as they are by passions, hatred, and hypocrisy, they seem not only puny, vile, and petty, but also disgusting in their monoto­ nous baseness. The only greatness in earthly life-but also the only
joy-is there re the purity ofmoral intent.
The Levels of Cosmic Consciousness
Earlier I spoke of the stages of consciousness of the self as a culty of eedom and moral choice. We can now return to this theme, in order to
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see how the various levels of self-consciousness correspond to di erent levels ofcosmic consciousness.
As long as the self has not yet gained awareness of its potential ee­ dom, and has not yet carried out the delimitation or circumscription of this potential eedom in which the guiding principle consists, it believes itself to be autonomous and independent of the world. In ct it is, as Marcus says, a "stranger to the world" (IV, 29), and it is swept along against its will by Destiny. In the course of the movement by which it becomes aware of the ct that it is not identical with the body, the vital breath, or involuntary emotions, however, the self discovers that, up until then, it had been unconsciously and passively determined by Des­ tiny: it had been nothing but a tiny point in the immensity ofspace, or a little wave in the immense tide of time. The moment eedom becomes aware ofitsel however, it becomes aware ofthe ct that that selfwhich is determined by Destiny is only an in nitesimally tiny part ofthe wo d (XII, 32):
What a tiny part of the gaping abyss of in nite time is assigned to each one of us! For it disappears so quickly into the everlasting. What a tiny portion of universal substance, what a tiny part of the universal soul! On how tiny a part ofthe entire earth do you crawl!
Our perspective is changed once again when the sel as a principle of eedom, recognizes that there is nothing greater than the moral good, and there re accepts what has been willed by Destiny, that is to say, universal Reason. If the self accepts itself as a principle of eedom and of choice, it also accepts the portion which Destiny has allotted to it, as the ego which has been determined by Destiny. As the Stoics used to say, the self accepts the role which the divine director has reserved r it in the drama of the universe;68 in Marcus' case, r instance, this role was that of emperor. As the selfaccepts this role, however, it becomes trans gured: r what the ee selfwills is a ofDestiny, the entire histo ofthe world, and the entire world, as ifthe selfwere that universal Reason which is at the origin ofthe world, or universal Nature. At this point, the selfas wi and as eedom coincides with the will of universal Reason and of the logos dispersed throughout all things.
The realization ofone's selfas identical with universal Reason, then, as long as it is accompanied by consent to this will, does not isolate the self like some minuscule island in the universe. On the contrary, it can open the self to a cosmic becoming, inso r as the self raises itself om its
The Discipline ofDesire 1 8 1
limited situation and partial, restricted, and individualistic point ofview to a universal and cosmic perspective. At this point, self-consciousness becomes consciousness of the world, and consciousness of the divine Reason which guides the world. Finally, we may say that the sel by means of this process of realization, discovers both its limitation and its transcendence. It discovers the limitation of its individuality within the immensity of the universe-this is a theme which recurs equently in Pascal's Pensees: "I am nothing but an unimportant thing in the abyss of time and space"-and this is the limitation of the self as determined by Destiny. At the same time, however, it discovers the transcendence of the self as moral conscience, whose value is somehow in nite with regard to the merely physical domain.
We nd this opposition between the self caught up in the web of the universe and ofDestiny and the selfwhich identi es itselfwith universal Reason already in Epictetus (I, 12, 26):
Don't you know how tiny a part you are, compared to the All? With regard to your body, that is; r with regard to your reason, you are not worse nor lesser than the gods. The size of reason cannot be measured by length or height, but by the value ofjudg­ ments (dogma; or "ofprinciples ofaction").
Perhaps I may be allowed here to refer to a similar opposition, be­ tween the puniness ofthe empirical sel plunged in the immensity ofthe world, and the incommensurable grandeur ofthe moral selfas the legisla­ tive power ofreason, which we nd in the last pages ofKant's Critique Practical Reason:
Two things ll the soul with ever-new and ever-growing admira­ tion and awe, the more equently and constantly one applies one's re ection to them: the star sky above me and the mo l law within me. These are two things which I have neither to search r, nor simply to presuppose, as if they were shrouded in darkness or plunged within a transcendent region, beyond my horizon: I can see them in ont of me and I attach them immediately to the consciousness of my existence. The rmer begins at that place which I occupy within the sensible world, and extends my connection to that which is im­ mensely large, with its worlds upon worlds and its systems of sys­ tems, in addition to the unlimited times of their periodic move­ ment, their beginning and their duration. The latter begins at my
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invisible sel or personality, and it represents me within a world which possesses a genuine in nity, but which can be detected only by the understanding, and with which (and thereby also with all these visible worlds) I realize that I am in a relationship of . . . universal and necessary linkage. The rst spectacle, that ofan innu­ merable multitude of worlds, somehow annihilates my importance qua that of a bestial creature which must return to the planet-a mere point in the universe-the matter out ofwhich it was rmed, a er having been-one knows not how-provided with vital rce r a brief span of time. The second spectacle, by contrast, increases my value in nitely, qua that ofan intelligence, thanks to my personal­ ity within which the moral law displays to me a li independent with regard to animality, and even with regard to the entire sensible world. 69
Obviously, Marcus Aurelius would not have accepted this Kantian distinction between a sensible and an intelligible world. For him, as r all the Stoics, there is one single wo d, just as, he says, there is one single law which is that reason common to all intelligent beings (VII, 9). For Marcus and the Stoics, however, it is the self's awareness of itself which trans rms it, making it pass in succession om the domain ofnecessity to the domain of eedom, and om the domain of eedom to the domain ofmorality. The self-that in nitesimal point within the immensity-is thereby trans rmed, and made equal to universal Reason.
8
THE DISCIPLINE OF ACTION, OR ACTION IN THE SERVICE OF MANKIND
The discipline ofaction
The result ofthe discipline ofdesire, as we saw, was to bring people inner serenity and peace of mind, since it consisted in the joyful consent to everything that happens to us through the agency of universal Nature and Reason. AmorJati, or the love of te, thus led us to want that which the cosmos wants, to want what happens, and to want what happens to us.
This ne serenity risks being disturbed by the discipline of active impulse and action, since in this case it is a matter of acting, not accept­ ing. We now must engage our responsibility, not just consent; and we must enter into relations with beings-our fellow creatures-who pro­ voke our passions precisely because they are our fellow creatures: beings whom we must love, although they are often hate l.
Here again, the norm will be und to be con rmity with Nature: not, this time, that universal Nature which we know in general to be rational, but one of the more speci c and determinate aspects of this universal Nature: human Nature, the Nature ofthe human race, or that Reason which all people have in common. This is a particular norm, which is the basis of precise obligations: inso r as we are parts of the human race, we must
(r) act in the service ofthe whole;
(2) in our actions, respect the hierarchy ofvalues which may exist be­ tween di erent types of action; and
(3) love all human beings, since we are all the members ofone single body.
Another way ofputting it would be to say that humankind is ruled by the laws of ur natures. In the rst place, people, as parts ofthe , are
ruled by universal Nature. They must consent to the great laws of this Nature-in other words, to Destiny and to the events willed by this universal Nature. For the Stoics, however, who had developed an entire theory of the lower levels of Nature, the Greek word physis which we translate as "nature" can also, when used without a quali er, mean the culty of growth which is peculiar to each organism. Plants possess nothing but this culty of growth, while human beings have it within them, alongside other culties. It is this culty, r instance, which rces people to feed themselves and to reproduce. We must, says Marcus (X, 2) also observe the demands ofthis law ofvegetative "nature. " For instance, we have the "duty"-1 shall return to the meaning of this term-to conserve ourselves by nourishing ourselves, as long as the satis ction ofthis demand has no negative e ects upon the other internal culties which we have within us. For human beings are not only a " culty of growth" hysis), but also a " culty of sensation": this is a higher level, which also goes into the constitution of humankind. Mar­ cus (X, 2) calls it a " rce" or "nature" of the animal. This law of animality also has its own demands with regard to humankind: in this case, self-conservation is achieved through the vigilance of the senses. Here again, we have the duty to car out our nctions as animals provided with sensation, as long as the higher inner culties are not thereby damaged. To exaggerate the role ofsensation would mean com­ promising the workings of Nature, that culty higher than sensation which is also called reason.
this, then, corresponds to the discipline ofaction, which implies the acts and movements which respond to the requirements of integral human nature. As we have seen, this nature is, at the same time, the culty of growth, of sensation, and of reason. Marcus is then quick to add (X, 2): "The rational culty is simultaneously the culty ofsocial li "; in other words, the law ofhuman and social reason demands that we place ourselves entirely in the service ofthe human community.
In many ofhis Meditations, Marcus emphasizes the symmetrical oppo­ sition which arises between the discipline of action and the discipline of desire. For example:
Act as your own nature commands you; put up with whatever common Nature brings to you (XII, 32, 3).
Am I really carrying out an action? I am carrying it out, when I relate it to the good ofhumankind. Is something happening to me? I greet
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it by relating what happens to me to the gods and to the source of things, whence the web ofall events has its origin (VIII, 23).